


Define Love

by astrophelthracius



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Immortal Sherlock, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Slave (Questionable term) John, Trigger warning (will put it in end notes, Vampire Sherlock, might make you cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 01:33:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10503675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrophelthracius/pseuds/astrophelthracius
Summary: I'm just on a posting streak (of my random works...)What is an immortal prepared to sacrifice for his beloved?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the wonderful creators of Sherlock (books, series, movies). 
> 
> This is based on the series, my cyber identity owns and gains absolutely nothing from this.

Time, always so close yet never quite there.

John stared out the great french windows. Hardly convenient when trying to keep the light out but tonight the darkness outside of it was magnificent. The Stars were wonderful. John had seen many of such nights. In fact, he'd seen much more than he was supposed to. He glanced at the dark mess of hair sitting in front of the wooden table. He watched as his master's current experiment fizzled. 

"Sherlock?" A noncommittal hum was directed his way. If only to appease his 'delicate human sensibilities regarding social interaction.'

"We should stop." Sherlock didn't do anything aside from the slight stutter of his dominant hand.

John basked in the silence as Sherlock continued with his experiment. Minutes passed before his hands clenched and he grit his teeth. Evidently, sherlock had no desire to partake in the conversation. John pinched the bridge of his nose and ran his hand through his hair.

"I know you can hear me. Honestly, we've avoided this discussion more times than I can stand. This time I'm not asking, I'm telling you that I'll stop doing this." Sherlock's hand dropped completely rendering his latest experiment ruined and his hand dipped in corrosive acid. John sighed as he strode towards sherlock and rucked up his sleeves. "Try not to make a habit of that would you?" The vampire didn't even twitch and John almost sighed again. He opted to press closer and pull Sherlock in. 

"We've been doing this for almost five decades. You must see how incredibly inconvenient it is. You don't have cases. You can't even have long term experiments! This must be driving you mad Sherlock." 

"I have you." Sherlock's body language spoke leagues that indicated the importance of the words but John quashed the hopeless idea that they could have more time than this. John crouched in front of him. An act that he shouldn't be able to do or even fathom at his actual age. He actually looked as if he were still in his twenties rather than late nineties. 

"That's not enough now is it? I'm not blind Sherlock. You miss it - the grand reveals, the cases, I dare say your brother. Didn't you say running was tedious?" Sherlock made a noise of protest that would've turned into a full blown tirade but John pushed his face against the nape of his neck. "I can't sustain your needs alone. Look at how thin you are. You're weaker than you're supposed to be. We can't keep this up for much longer. We're just prolonging the inevitable." 

Sherlock thrashed out of his grip and dropped his head onto his hands. The past two decades had marked his strength's decline. John had always noticed it but this decade sherlock had given him more blood than he could give in return. Hence Sherlock's health had been put on the line. No sane blood grocer gave blood to non vampires now and Sherlock's missing posts were enough to warrant any decent grocer's attention. 

"I'm trying John. But you can't be selfish. You can't give up, don't you see? I can live without the cases or experiments. I just want you." His alabaster face was hidden but John knew that he had a mulish expression. The same one he'd used when they started this whole debacle. John couldn't help but smile when he remembered that petulant face. They had the best of times together but it would come to an end sooner or later. He'd rather it happened while under control. 

"Well, I'm not what you need." Sherlock's outrage was hardly a surprise.

"What am I to do then?!" He screamed at John and the man rushed to his side. Sherlock didn't even realize how tightly he was holding John until his companion's nails dug into his back. "Don't be selfish John. Please. I can't go back to when you weren't there. It was extremely boring and-and lonely. I can't be without you." His voice had dwindled to a whisper, as if they were secrets that could never be heard. John knew it was simply how Sherlock was raised. To keep the most important things in and hold his cards closely to his chest.

"Oh Sherlock. I'm sure you'll be just fine." He pulled back just enough to look at Sherlock in the eye and put their foreheads together in lieu of a goodbye kiss. Sherlock's eyes widened by an inch milliseconds before John pricked him with the drugged needle hidden in his ring. Or more accurately Mycroft's ring. A perfect replica of the one Sherlock had given him decades ago. He put that one in Sherlock's pocket and put the leather collar on the vampire's neck from the box just as the London police entered. They found the missing Sherlock Holmes drugged out of his mind with a slave's collar lying prone with the human slave that had disappeared with him. For all intents and purposes John was considered a felon that kidnapped Lord Holmes's brother. Mycroft would surely see to that. He gazed at Sherlock longingly one last time before his master was taken somewhere he'd be better off. 

John closed his eyes as the vampires collared and bound him tightly before dragging him off into the execution grounds. Well it was crudely called that but John was brought into a tightly guarded facility around an hour or two outside the city of London. The walls and ceiling were stark white and the implements were all made of metal. He could see Mycroft outside the observation glass along with the rest of what must be noble vampires. Mycroft held his gaze the whole time he was strapped onto the table up until the blade was drawn across his throat and he was bled dry slowly. It might have been as close to gratitude and apology he'd get from the man. Everything was done with clinical efficiency and detachment, just like a pig being butchered. He choked on blood as it left his body but his mind reveled in the fact that Sherlock wouldn't be the one facing it. He averted his eyes from Mycroft's with the last of his strength and closed them, thinking of Sherlock and the time they'd had. And then everything was over.

Sherlock awoke to the smell of putrid incense - sandalwood, nutmeg, no doubt horribly overpriced from the smell of it. Where could John have gotten those? He shot up when he remembered John's hands, his caress and the sudden pinprick of something. He looked around and realized that he was back in 221B. "No, no, no, no, no. John? John!" His screams yielded nothing as he overturned the flat, looking for John. There was obviously only one probable outcome of him being here. John had turned both of them in and did something. Something that those idiotic police officers thought was his fault. John. Where would they take John?

The execution grounds. The one Mycroft claims not to have. He dashes out the street and hails a cab. They drove for a whole hour and a half to the outskirts of London. Sherlock's countenance was manic and worrying enough to make the human driver hitter and drive faster than he'd dared on any day. "Stupid, idiotic John. Idiot!" The cabbie jumped in surprise and pulled over right in front of the plant. Baskerville.

Sherlock threw him the expensive watch he'd nicked off of Mycroft and fished out the card he'd similarly acquired quite a ways back. Mycroft knew it was with him but it had been working the last time he checked. He was past the gates and into the facility in no time. His coat billowing as he searched for John. The probability that he was still alive decreases by the minute and Sherlock couldn't lose him. He found a heavily guarded door and to the guards took one look at him before opening the door. He entered.

His eyes widened at Mycroft's cross legged pose. The umbrella propped against the wall on his right and his eyes trained on the other side of the glass. Sherlock turned his eyes similarly and his feet almost gave out. He released a cry of outrage and entered the other room. He gathered John's lifeless body to himself and cut his wrist, trying to get the flow of blood into John's cold mouth. Tears poured from his eyes as he shook John, cursing at him and then pleading for him to live. He sat there for hours never relinquishing John's body to any who dared come in. Mycroft must've kept them out after the eighth hour. He sat with John for almost thirty hours without uttering a word, completely ignoring the setting smell of decay. So did Mycroft. His brother was still seated in the observation room. 

"Rigor mortis. Your not supposed to do this John. We were going to grow old together. I was going to go with you wherever you wanted." He cried into the cold body. "You bloody fucking berk, you didn't even leave me a choice did you?" He looked at Mycroft, close enough to stop him if he tried anything.

"You're so selfish." He cradled John to himself. He'd take John any way he can.

Year 2013

Sherlock's head lifted from the microscope as an unforgettable smell wafted in his nose. 

Mike Stamford entered and right after him was a man Sherlock thought he'd never lay eyes upon again. "John..." 

"Sorry, what was that?" Sherlock shook his head as the even more familiar voice crept into his senses. "Phone. I said can I borrow a phone. I left mine at home." Mike looked for his in his suit pocket and Sherlock willed him to not say anything. "Sorry mate. Left mine in my coat." John, for he couldn't be called anything else, pulled out his. Sherlock deduced him fairly quickly. He was impressed with the exact similarity he had with his John but the differences. Oh, the differences were only made by circumstances but the driving force was exactly the same. Sherlock exited the room with more flourish and joy than he intended to show. He needed to prepare the flat for his human mate again. And this time he wouldn't fail. 

He hummed Vivaldi's 'Spring' as he sauntered along the back alleys of London. He needed to get the corrosives out of the kitchen along with the deadly toxic ones. He'd have to rent 221C for his more dangerous experiments. He will have to turn the living room habitable for his John. He shivered in anticipation. John was back, after so many years of waiting and wondering if reincarnation was true he finally had John back. He calculated the amount of time needed to ease John into his true nature and turn him. He was finally old enough to do so. John would be his first 'child' and then his mate.

And the rest is history...

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the wonderful creators of Sherlock (books, series, movies). 
> 
> This is based on the series, my cyber identity owns and gains absolutely nothing from this.
> 
> Major character death, but not tragedy.


End file.
